If there is one thing Damian can safely admit to himself, it's that he doesn't want power. He doesn't want to command, he wants to enforce. He wants to be the iron in the spine of a movement, not standing at the head dealing with everything he'd left behind in the ashes of Wayne Manor. He is not his father, and he is not his mother.
He suspects he's probably worse than the both of them.
But he can't stand being idle. Can't stand the thought of untrained civilians stumbling into something they can't handle and getting killed. Only the strong survive, but the strong protect the weak. And more than anything in the world, Damian Wayne wants to be someone Clark Kent would be proud to call son.
His hair, which has always grown faster than he might have liked, is getting long enough to be annoying. Too short to pin back with a ponytail, too long to stay pushed back. Any idle thoughts he had about cutting it went out the window when his father - or some alternate universe's discount version of him - showed up on his doorstep. He's in his element on the mats, loose and easy and ready for whatever Keith might throw at him.
This feels like he has something to prove. Like he's actually proving he can be more than an attack dog, or an enforcer. Like there's some weighty meaning behind it, instead of just vetting that Keith's money is actually where is mouth is. ]
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If there is one thing Damian can safely admit to himself, it's that he doesn't want power. He doesn't want to command, he wants to enforce. He wants to be the iron in the spine of a movement, not standing at the head dealing with everything he'd left behind in the ashes of Wayne Manor. He is not his father, and he is not his mother.
He suspects he's probably worse than the both of them.
But he can't stand being idle. Can't stand the thought of untrained civilians stumbling into something they can't handle and getting killed. Only the strong survive, but the strong protect the weak. And more than anything in the world, Damian Wayne wants to be someone Clark Kent would be proud to call son.
His hair, which has always grown faster than he might have liked, is getting long enough to be annoying. Too short to pin back with a ponytail, too long to stay pushed back. Any idle thoughts he had about cutting it went out the window when his father - or some alternate universe's discount version of him - showed up on his doorstep. He's in his element on the mats, loose and easy and ready for whatever Keith might throw at him.
This feels like he has something to prove. Like he's actually proving he can be more than an attack dog, or an enforcer. Like there's some weighty meaning behind it, instead of just vetting that Keith's money is actually where is mouth is. ]
I was born ready.